


The Ripple Effect

by Iolre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Burns, But also adorable, But mostly fluff, Dragon shifter, Fire, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft is overprotective, Sherlock is a bad caretaker, There will be cuddling, dragon rider, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Greg saw the ice-blue shifter, he was out with a hunting party, tracking a small group of bandits who had attacked the village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ripple Effect

**Author's Note:**

> **I am planning to re-write this into a longer one-shot, but I can't guarantee when that will be done. It will be reposted when that is completed.**
> 
> This was inspired by hachilemon's prompt: 'Can I request a Sherstrade with dragon hunter Lestrade and dragon shifter Sherlock?'
> 
> It ended up spiraling into a chaptered work because I just can't let go of this universe.
> 
> You can follow me for updates [here!](http://iolre.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Also, as a bonus, this has been certified as 'cute' by my beta. So.)

The first time Greg saw the ice-blue dragon shifter, he was out with a hunting party, tracking a small party of bandits who had attacked the village. Greg Lestrade was a mage, more specifically a war mage, charged with taking down the dragons who attempted to attack his crew while they dealt with the humans who had committed crimes. It wasn’t a particularly fun job. It was gory and messy, and Greg saw more death than he would have preferred, but it was a job. It was something that kept him from turning to the bottle like his father, kept him from losing control of his magic and burning up in the middle of the square one day.

Greg had wandered off from his crew while they were resting around the small fire, charged with standing guard. He and Sally, his junior associate, had to take turns standing watch in case of dragon attack. It hadn’t taken taken much to spot the pale blue shifter. It stuck out like a sore thumb among the greenery of the forest. Greg had straightened, cautiously shifting into a defensive position. He wasn’t dressed in armour, instead wearing nothing more than the simple day-to-day clothes he wore when he wasn’t actively Hunting. He was physically defenseless if the dragon wanted to attack.

It stepped out from the trees, into Greg’s full view, and Greg inhaled sharply. Some dragons could shift, take on a primarily human form, and this was obviously one of them. The dragon shifter was male, mid twenties. His skin was deathly pale and shimmered with the reflection of tiny, light blue scales, the same colour as his unearthly eyes. His hair was jet-black, tousled, artful curls that were stark against his light colouring. Ice-blue wings were folded against his back, carefully tucked away to reduce his visibility. He was bare-chested, clad only in a pair of dark breeches. Greg gulped at the sight of the dragon shifter’s hands, down by his side, aware of how much damage those long, wicked nails could do.

Something was different about this one. He didn’t seem wicked. Didn’t seem to want to rend, tear, kill, like most of the other dragons Greg had met. He hadn’t noticed Greg yet, hadn’t registered his presence and reacted. The dragon hunter stepped back, scolding himself furiously as he felt a twig snap under his foot. The dragon shifter was sure to notice him now. Greg watched, heart pounding, as the ice-blue shifter slowly turned in his direction.

He would have expected anger, on the dragon shifter’s face. Hatred. Fury. Distrust. All emotions that were signs of an attack, would show that this one was like the others. A hater of humans. Instead, the emotion that registered first was fear. It registered in the dragon shifter’s face, in his posture, the way he jerked back, obviously startled. Then he shifted. Lifted his head, bolder. For a few, long moments their eyes locked, and Greg’s world shifted, realigning itself. Greg swallowed thickly, not even sure what had happened, what he was feeling. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Humans didn’t - didn’t feel, for those creatures. Dragons were bad, mostly. Uncontrollable. No human had tried to dominate one and live to tell the tale, much less - much less tried to mate with one. Or even been attracted. The very idea was ludicrous. It was lust, nothing more. Temporary insanity. The dragon was rather physically attractive (even Greg could acknowledge that). That was all. Or that was what Greg told himself, as he watched the shifter turn around and disappear into the forest.

He spent the rest of his watch trying to force the strange, ice-blue shifter out of his mind. It didn’t work.

The mission was over not long after. Greg’s skills weren’t needed, and for that, he was thankful. He wasn’t certain how efficiently he could have defended his crew, not with that strange, haunting shifter still lurking in his mind. It was late, and he was home alone, two weeks later. The small hovel that he called his own. Running a hand through his silvering hair, he leaned back in his chair with a groan. It was inappropriate, frankly, how much time he had spent thinking about the shifter he had encountered. How many times he had wondered who he was. If he could speak. Why he had looked so afraid.

“Sir?” Sally had pushed open the door and had entered without him noticing. Not exactly a demonstration of his talent, nor his skills. “Chief has a job for you.”

“Bloody bandits again?” Greg grumbled, standing and stretching out his joints.

“Yes, sir,” she answered smartly. He noticed, approvingly, that she was already dressed to leave. Her clothes were shimmering with the runes that marked the soft-looking cloth as armour against dragon magic.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he assured her. She nodded once and vanished out the door. Greg rifled through his wardrobe, and, on an impulse, grabbed the same armour he had worn, two weeks ago. He didn’t allow himself to think about what he was doing as he quickly gathered the rest of his supplies and headed out the door.

It had been simple enough. There had been no reports of dragons anywhere nearby, but Greg knew to be on guard. Sometimes shifters could pass as humankind to the unaware eye, and one could never be too cautious. It had taken two days of travel before they had spotted the bandit’s tracks, another two days to flush them out, and less than two hours to rid the world of their thievery. Greg swallowed as they left the bodies behind. He never liked the deaths, no matter how necessary they were. Killing was something to be taken seriously.

The next day, they packed up their supplies, and headed home. There were no more bandits, not in the area. That was when Greg heard the thrumming, felt the barest hint of something at the edge of his conscious. He knew what it meant. What it signified. “Dragons!” he shouted, alerting everyone, rallying his crew behind him, Sally next him to his right. The group waited in near silence, only broken by the sound of their breathing and bodies shifting slightly in anticipation.

This was why Greg existed, this is why he survived. He was who the crew was depending on. He had to save everyone, or no one would make it home. Families would be rendered, torn apart because he failed to protect them. He took a deep breath, clasped his hands, felt the magic he possessed sing through his veins. Then their surroundings exploded and everything went wrong.

There had been three dragons, each one bigger than the last. The first, the largest, had gone down easily. Greg had not even broken a sweat, although he couldn’t stop the faintest whisper of apology from escaping his lips. It was survival, nothing more. The other two, he thought, would go down just as easily. He underestimated how wrong he was. How much the middle one, nondescript with its black scales and odd, gray eyes, would fight his concentration, how the little one, a lighter shade of gray, unobtrusive, would sneak in from the side, how the screaming of his crew would break his hold over the black dragon. All hope had been lost. His concentration, his magic, was gone. He turned and dived out of the way, shrieking in pain as he felt heat sear his back. Then the world spun and went dark as he fell into unconsciousness.

Waking up was a gradual process, hampered by how heavy his eyelids felt and how much his back hurt. He hissed, gritted his teeth together as he tried to push up on his elbows. The moss felt soft against his face, at least, but he needed to see where he was, if he was in danger. “Don’t move.” Greg stilled his movements, grimacing in pain as his muscles tensed in surprise. The burns on his back protested the shifting of his skin. Still, he turned his head, eyes widening as he saw what was sitting next to him.

The ice-blue shifter from two weeks was crouched next to him, one scary foot next to his shoulder as the shifter smeared a light-coloured cream all over Greg’s back. “What are you doing?” Greg asked defensively. He stayed still, forcing his muscles to relax. The cool, soothing cream helped take some of the pain away, and he felt a bit better.

“This is a cream for the burn.” The shifter wasn’t looking at him, was instead focused on the movements of his hand, careful to avoid the nails touching any of the burnt flesh. Greg bit back a whimper as the shifter applied too much pressure, sending jolts of pain throughout his body. Instinctively he tried to press himself further into the ground, trying to get away from what was hurting him, but any movement produced more pain.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” he got out through gritted teeth.

The shifter paused, and then carefully finished applying the last bit of cream. “I have never tended to a human before.” There was a small spark of light and the remnants of the cream vanished from the long-fingered hands. Greg gulped at the sight of the wicked-looking nails extending from the tips of his fingers. One wrong move and they could cut him to pieces within seconds. The shifter sat back on his heels, studying Greg’s back with a clinical scrutiny.

It felt awkward, laying there half-nude, his back bared for the shifter’s inspection. Greg felt vulnerable. Exposed. Physically, at least. The dragon shifter could kill him in five different ways without even trying. Greg was in no shape to fight him off. At the same time, there was conflict. The shifter’s hand on his back had felt warm. Safe. Secure. The opposite of what he should have been feeling. Part of him wanted to close his eyes, let sleep claim him. Wanted to trust the strange creature that was, currently, in charge of his life.

He felt swathes of a light fabric - linen of some sort, possibly - placed on his back. “Stay still,” the shifter warned. Greg’s stomach flipped uncomfortably as he slowly rose off the ground, allowing just enough space for the shifter to wrap a roll of cloth around his middle several times, securing the dressing to his back. The ice-cold hands were oddly gentle, as if apologetic for causing prior harm. Then he was slowly lowered down. Greg’s insides clenched, and he fought to not empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor of the clearing.

“Can I move now?” Greg inquired, shifting his shoulders slightly once the nausea had passed to test his limits.

Greg saw the shifter’s shrug out of the corner of his eyes, and slowly lifted his hands, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He kept his back as straight as possible to minimise the sting, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been prior. Carefully he turned to face the shifter. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but didn’t know where to start. His knowledge of dragons or dragon culture was little - he had been taught to kill or capture first, and to ask questions later. Dragons killed humans, that was how it went. But this one was different. “Do you have a name?” he tried, tentative.

“Yes.” The shifter was sorting through a small box in front of him, eyes distracted.

Greg waited for a few moments, then made an impatient noise. That earned him a quick look, followed by an eye roll. Greg reminded himself that this wasn’t another person. It was a shifter. Manners to a dragon weren’t manners to a human. “I’m Greg,” he offered. Maybe the shifter wanted him to make the first move.

The shifter stilled, and Greg’s stomach lurched. Suddenly, he was afraid he had made the wrong decision. The strange, ice-blue eyes turned his way, and Greg was intensely aware of how much attention the shifter was paying to his every move. Then the corner of the shifter’s mouth lifted, a slow, semblance of a smile, and there was something liquid and affectionate in those strange eyes, something that melted Greg’s stomach, made him feel warm all over.

“Sherlock.”


End file.
